


They Fear not Men in the Woods

by Moyra



Category: Hannibal (TV), Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Hannibal is annoyed, Hannibal is impressed, Hannibal likes exploring, Someone Help Will Graham, Will has talent, if you cannot help Will then run, seriously run
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:56:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2444579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moyra/pseuds/Moyra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Chilton is being lazy and irresponsible, he takes it to completely new heights. Now Will Graham is prowling the halls of Mount Massive Asylum while Hannibal Lecter tries to find his friend. And all the crazy inmates just hope that the newcomers would not achieve the body count higher than Walker's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to lovely Saha for betaing. I would not be brave enough to post it without your help.

He woke up slowly, mind still muddled and limbs unresponsive. The screams still echoing behind the walls. His hands twitched and for the first time in… days? Weeks? _Months?_ He could raise them up. He did and marveled at the freedom to do so. He frowned. Was he not supposed to move? But his hands were free. His legs as well. He pushed himself up and saw the restraints laying on the floor, shredded to pieces.

He swung his legs from the bed. _The gurney,_ someone whispered in his earswith a voice as familiar as his own. He listened further but it was silent again.The tiles beneath were cold and curiously sticky. The smell permeating the room was familiar to him. Sweet. Comforting. _Delicious._ For a moment there was no difference between his thoughts and the voice and he rubbed at his eyes trying to dislodge it. _Futile._ He stood up and stared. The room was ransacked. Papers strewn everywhere. The few chairs upturned. Broken glass on the floor. He took a step and flinched when the sole of his foot came into contact with one of the pieces. He realized the smell was stronger, intensified now that his foot was bleeding. Blood. He was smelling blood. _And guts. Liver. Heart. Don’t forget the lungs._

He turned his head trying to locate the voice. He failed but noticed the door, widely ajar and hanging  off the hinges. Still disoriented he stepped through and stilled. The hall was empty. Empty and bathed in blood. He shivered and inhaled. Held his breath and exhaled. The smell of blood was tugging on his memory. He inhaled again. _One shot. Then six more. See? See?_ The voice had changed. Became deeper. Gruffer.

He slowly moved towards the double doors at the end of the hall, carefully navigating around the crimson pools. Somewhere behind him he heard metallic clinking and more screams. He shivered and tugged at the sleeves of his flannel shirt. No, not flannel. He stopped and frowned again. The clothes… didn’t feel right. Too baggy, too dirty, too… alien. Wrong. _Worse than prison. Much worse._

Abandoning his sleeves, he proceeded forward. The doors were closed, but not locked, and he hesitated. What… What was he doing here? _Where is here?_ He shook his head and pushed through. The room was more spacious than the one he awakened in and lighter in color as well. The smell of blood was weaker, but still present. He looked around and cautiously stepped closer to the center. The doors behind him shut with a bang and he flinched. _Bang and you’re dead. You don’t want to be dead, do you? Do you?_

He didn’t want to be dead, no. _Dead and forgotten. Killing must feel good to God, too…_ He shook his head to dislodge the voice and noticed something glinting on the nearest bed. _Gurney. A gurney._ It was a knife, specks of red on its handle, the blade itself pristine and clean. He took it and marveled at the instantaneous feeling of familiarity it evoked. _Are we not created in His image?_

He gazed into the metal of the blade, for the moment mesmerized, and swallowed. The face that gazed back at him was bearded. Sunken eyes. Curly brown hair reaching down to his chin. He lowered the knife a bit and pressed it to his skin. The weight felt comforting, the position not so much. He gripped the weapon tighter, stretched his arm forward and smiled. This was better.

Now more confident and still vaguely smiling he moved to the next door. On the way he noticed a file on another gurney and flipped it open. The text was undiscernible, hidden underneath thick layer of blood and he wondered why the cover didn’t stick to the paper inside. The only thing visible was the name and it was this that stopped him short. For a moment he floundered trying to sort out his memories, jumbled together and not making much sense, and a thought rose unbidden in his mind.

 _My name is… Will Graham. It is…_ he glanced sideways, at the clock on the wall. _It is 7 p.m._ He looked at the file in his hands one more time and read the title on the cover. _And I am at Mount Massive Asylum._

And everything else was irrelevant.

&&&

 

Hannibal Lecter rarely felt regret. He preferred to avoid any course of action that would bring him to that state of mind. Unfortunately for him, any action he could have eventually chosen in regards to Will Graham would not have spared him the gnawing and persistent doubts in the back of his mind. He had hoped, fervently hoped, that framing his friend and indirectly putting him in Baltimore State Hospital for Criminally Insane and the hands of Frederick Chilton would grant him more time to manipulate Will further, to reach the darkness inside him and bring it to the surface. He hadn’t taken into account the sheer incompetence of his fellow psychiatrist. But who could have thought that Chilton would be so easily convinced by some obscure charity organization to part with some of his patients in return for goodwill from the masses and naturally extensive financial support. And the information on some of their unorthodox treatment methods as well. Last time Hannibal saw Chilton, the man could barely be persuaded to part with his work for half an hour. 

And so, now he was forced to drive into the God forsaken little town in the middle of nowhere, just to ensure that Will’s continued health was not in jeopardy and he still had the chance to make him see and embrace the light. Or darkness, as the case would be. His hands tightened on the wheel of his Bentley and Hannibal sighed. Perhaps, it would have been more beneficial, had he actually liberated Will from his life entirely. Perhaps, it would have lightened his obsession into something at least approaching a normal, natural interest. Lightened or removed it, either would be preferable to the imbalance Hannibal was feeling right now.

The telephone poles blurred outside the windows as the car sped on the mountain trail. It was already evening. And seeing as his visitor pass was restricted by certain hours, Hannibal didn’t want to be late. It took him an unexplainably long time to procure it and he didn’t want to go through the procedures again.

But if necessary, he would. He grimaced as he admitted the unwelcome truth to himself. Really, such a level of interest was unseemly. He couldn’t allow this game to continue for much longer. Something had to give. He would take either Will or his life.

He could see the asylum that Will was transferred to at the end of the road, and slowed the car. Carefully navigating the bumps on the rural road, Hannibal approached the gates and stopped the car, waiting. After several minutes of inactivity, he frowned. They should have already let him in and yet the gates were still closed. Cold skittered along his spine and he shivered. The climate here was even colder than in Baltimore, Hannibal noted distantly. He should have worn a warmer coat.

The gates stood unmoving before him. Frowning faintly Hannibal stepped out of the car and rapped his knuckles on the metal. In the flickering light he could see a red jeep parked near the gatehouse. He peered into the blurry windows, but there was no sign of life inside. Experimentally, he pushed the gates and was rewarded with a deep metallic groan as they skidded across the ground.

At the same time he heard a shrill scream coming from just inside the asylum front yard. Something wasn’t right in the Kingdom of the Murkoff Charity, he thought idly. Hannibal waited for a moment more but the sound had ended just as abruptly as it had started and there was the silence again. If he were prone to melodramatics, he would have called the atmosphere surrounding the place oppressive. As it was, it was certainly unusual.

With barely any hesitation, Hannibal returned to his car and opened the trunk, rummaging inside until he found a small bag. From there he took a couple of surgical knives, which he hid in the inner pockets of his suit. After contemplating some more, he decided to leave everything else. Surely, he was just being paranoid. He would be able to sneak two small knives inside. The whole arsenal would be a bit much.

Locking his car, he put the keys in his pocket, and returned to the gates. There, his steps slowed as he carefully approached the jeep. To his surprise, it was open. Inside, he found a journalist pass for someone named Miles Upshur, and little else. Apparently, he was not the only one to decide visiting the asylum in the evening was a marvelous idea.

He left the car mostly undisturbed and proceeded to the gatehouse. It was deserted as he had expected, so with a glance towards blue monitor screens the doctor entered the yard. The sight he found inside made him still for a few seconds. What were the military doing here? Wondering if he should just leave, for the situation was becoming more complicated by the minute, Hannibal found his legs moving forward without his conscious consent. Right. Will. He couldn’t leave without checking on Will.

After closer inspection, the obviously military trunks turned out to be as deserted as the gatehouse. Hannibal still gave them a wide berth as he walked to the entrance. He tugged on the doors and to his surprise found them open. The way this evening was going he would have thought them closed as well, perhaps forcing him to find a less dignified way of entering the Asylum. He did notice some scaffolding to the left.

Fingering one of his knives he slid the door closed behind him and tensed. The smell… The cloying, sweet smell of blood; that he didn’t expect at all. Something wasn’t right, indeed. Pushing the worry for his former patient to the back of his mind, he walked forward. The blood was everywhere. If he didn’t know better he would say that it was sprayed on the walls and the floor from a hose, judging just from the sheer amount, but the splatter suggested something else. People had been killed here. A lot of people. Now that he was further inside he could see a few bodies as well, but too few. To get so much blood he would need to drain at least twice as many, and that was in the first room alone.

The writing on the second the level of the lobby was seemingly done using blood as well. The strange sentence made Hannibal pause as he wondered if there had been a breakout. But then again, the amount of carnage he had seen in the last minute suggested something much more serious.

Detachedly, he wondered what he would have done with such a number of the dead. His fridge wasn’t that large after all. He fished his phone out of his jacket and almost called Jack, before realizing there were no bars in the corner of the screen. He automatically noted the time, around 10 p.m., and exchanged the phone for his knife. One could never be too careful, not in situations like these. Perhaps he should have taken his usual gear after all. Still, the doctor was too curious now to back out.

Hannibal moved to the desk right in the center of the large lobby and crouched near the body that lay there. A guard, as far as he could tell. Broken neck, multiple lacerations, bones jutting out of his ribcage. Ripped out guts. It was done by someone either very strong, almost inhumanly so, or running on a cocktail of adrenaline and a mixture of most likely illegal drugs. The doctor sniffed and grimaced. The smell of blood was overlaid by something much more pungent and unpleasant. The smell of waste and unwashed bodies quickly drove him away and he resumed the exploration.

The rest of the bodies were guards as well, mostly in the same condition as the first one, and Hannibal turned his attention to the corridor to his left. He could make out an upturned wheelchair and another body. The shadows and the weak illumination weren’t helping his eyes. The passage, however, was blocked by some debris and Hannibal turned to the other hallway directly opposite the left one. Ignoring the stairway for the time being, the doctor inspected the rooms one by one. Nothing but debris, scattered furniture and papers. Blood and, curiously enough, body parts. Some of them appeared to be half eaten and he grimaced. How… uncouth.

One of the doors at the end was lying on the floor, bent and clearly ripped from the doorway. Perhaps by the same person who killed the guards, he mused. The room inside was completely trashed. Broken monitors and furniture, all entangled in wires, were piled on the floor. Letting his eyes roam across the ever present blood, he decided it was a Security Control room. The small plaque on the wall outside confirmed his deduction.

Continuing down the hall, Hannibal couldn’t help but think that, if he was going to find Will in the same state as the rest of the unfortunate souls back in the lobby, he would be very cross with whoever had done this. He chose to ignore the fact that it was his fault his friend was even here.

The last door was unfortunately locked, the room behind it shrouded in darkness so the doctor returned to the lobby.

Thoughtfully, he gazed at the adjacent room. It appeared to be full of desks and computers and Hannibal decided to try his luck there. Perhaps there was another passage hidden in the shadows leading to the blocked hallway. Walking through the dark, the doctor struggled to remember what he knew about the facility.

He never had reason to visit the Mount Massive Asylum before. None of the truly twisted criminal minds that he had studied during the beginning of his career as a psychiatrist resided here. Though, he mused, there was one patient that he interviewed during his residency and was later transferred here, if he recalled correctly. What was his name?... Ah, yes, Manera. Curious only for his dietary habits and penchant for saws.

True to his thoughts, Hannibal passed the computers, a small storage room, and emerged in the dimly lit hallway. Curiously enough, he seemed to be following a trail of bloody footprints. He turned to the body that he noticed earlier and hesitated for a few moments. Somewhere far away from him, he could hear desperate screams again.

Keeping his surroundings in sight, he moved closer. Ten steps, five. Three. The body twitched and Hannibal stilled. It appeared there was someone still alive. A man. Though he truly looked more dead than alive lying on the floor in fetal position. A husk of someone, nothing more. The doctor adjusted his grip on the knife and slowly murmured, “Hello?”

The reaction was a bit more explosive than he anticipated. With a piercing shriek the man lunged from the floor and grabbed Hannibal’s free arm.

“Rip them out! Rip them out, please! Rip them out!!” A pause. “Seen the Artist’s work? Ripped off and stitched together again… Rip… Rip them out!!!”

Hannibal, barely keeping his disgust in check, freed his arm and stepped away. Apparently, there was, indeed, a breakout. The now cowering man could only be a patient, and one that should have been restrained at that. Hannibal doubted he could get any useful information out of him, though the stitched up face did give him some ideas. His apprehension grew even more as he imagined the kind of procedures such a facility could have in store. And what it would mean for Will.

The doctor carefully walked around the patient and finally reached the only doorway in sight. The end of the hallway was blocked by debris and broken furniture again, to his frustration. However that feeling soon changed into one of wonder, as he entered the room.

The bodies inside were arranged into a work of art. Hannibal admired the vision of it, as he looked it over. The limbs were cut off and attached to the one visible head in a display of what looked like antlers, fingers splayed wide and supported by wire. The bodies were intertwined together and stood on four legs. The whole display was practically painted by blood. Blood, that was no longer freshly red but a dark brownish color. Tattered clothing spiked out from the back of the creature. Closing his eyes Hannibal could almost see the design behind it. A stag, proudly rearing his head back. A stag he recognized.

Only one thought ran through his mind at that moment. _Will. Will was here._


	2. Chapter 2

The voices in his head came like the tides of a capricious sea. The strongest one, the one he couldn’t help but listen to, was the one he heard the most. A man with a fascinating accent that washed up slivers of broken trust along his words. _Did you really feel so bad because killing him felt so good?_ There were others. A woman, voice steady and comforting. _It’s because I think you’re unstable._ A girl, shy and sly at the same time. _Just because you killed my dad doesn’t mean you get to be him._ A man,  whose words made him want to gouge his eyes out and throw them at his feet, however intangible they might be. _Can I borrow your imagination, Will?_ A score more.

To Will’s surprise, the weakest voices, the ones that were barely more than whispers, turned out to be more real than he would have liked. Those belonged to the patients, to the doctors, to the ones he despised or thought beneath himself. He left them where he found them, often rearranged in a way, so they could be better in death than they were in life. He even found himself agreeing with the big guy he usually avoided. They were pigs. The asylum wouldn’t miss a couple of doctors and patients, surely.

And of course, he was not actively hunting them; that would be too simple, no. He was not like the twins who paid for their attempt on his life with a few broken fingers and a twisted nose. _Not worth it._ He didn’t have any reason to kill them, and so he didn’t. He was much more interested in the voices.

But old habits were hard to break and so Will watched. He watched and he saw. He saw and then he spoke.

“You love each and every one of them. Want to make them pretty. Beautiful. Worthy. Let them have that wonderful moment of giving life to another. That’s thoughtful of you.” _Honor them. He is honoring them._

The man he was watching was startled as he straightened, blood dripping from his hands. His smile was as sharp as the electric saw he had used to cut his prey open.

“Well, hello there, darling. Didn’t notice you. Be a dear and don’t leave just yet. I shall be with you in a minute.”

The man’s words brought a laugh to Will’s lips. _He loves each and every one of them. At least until they run. Then it’s open season._

“Oh, no, no, no. I apologize. I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you. Can’t have babies, you see. Barren. From birth.” His next words were almost apologetic. “Won’t make a good wife.”

Will crouched on the balcony overlooking the spacious room that his newfound friend was using as a workshop of sorts. In the center stood a table with a body on it, naked and cut open, insides glistening an angry red. The head was missing and, after shifting a bit to the right, Will saw it resting between the corpse’s legs. The saw was wheeled to the corner and now stood towering above a pile of body parts.

“But I can stand in for a bridesmaid at the wedding.” He cocked his head. “When you find your bride, that is.”

The man beneath seemed to consider Will’s words for a second. He nodded and moved back to the bloody table.

“That position is still open. It is, after all, rather hard to find a woman suitable for such responsibility.” He paused. “Are you?”

“Sure, I’m a pretty responsible person. I think.” _Not unstable. Not a teacup. Not anymore._ “And you need at least one person to act as a witness besides the groom and the priest at the wedding, don’t you? Otherwise, what kind of wedding would that be?”

“Indeed,” the man cut the body on the table and pulled swatches of skin from the chest. “Well, then. My name is Eddie. Eddie Gluskin. Pleased to make you acquaintance.”

“Will Graham. Likewise.”

 

&&&&

 

After spending more time than was perhaps wise just staring at the glorious display Will had put up, Hannibal finally managed to force himself to move and returned to the lobby. His thoughts, though, kept circling back to what he had seen. He was sure it was Will’s work. The grotesque stag was one of the topics they had discussed at length at their sessions and the doctor didn’t have any trouble recognizing it in the flesh, so to speak.

He approached the stairs that he previously ignored in order to explore the first floor. The elevator was too confining for his tastes and looked rather unstable as well. Though considering it was a mental hospital, that wasn’t so surprising, was it? The gates to the stairs were closed, but to his satisfaction the lock was easy enough. After all this time, mused Hannibal, there really wasn’t a better attire to hide miscellaneous tools of his trade than his three piece suit. And that’s not counting the superior quality of it. It wouldn’t do to look like the rest of the cattle, would it? For a second he imagined himself as a shepherd, standing above the herd, choosing which one to cull; the ever-vigilant guardian dog circling around and keeping watch. But the thought did not hold his attention for long.

Putting the lock picks back into his inner pocket, Hannibal considered the choices. Up or down? Another scream echoing above made his decision much easier. If there were screams, there were people. If there were people, some of them might know where Will was. And that, ultimately, was why Hannibal was there in the first place.

The second floor met him with complete silence. The lights were not working either. If Hannibal were anything but a serial cannibalistic killer, he supposed, that would be the point to turn back. Alas, nothing here was particularly frightening to him, and the only thing that made him even slightly apprehensive was Will’s current whereabouts.

Slowly and carefully Hannibal navigated the hallway, stopping often to listen for any signs of life. Several times he managed to miss the dry patches of the floor and step into a puddle. Trying to lessen the amount of blood on his shoes, Hannibal lamented that he wouldn’t be able to dry clean them as he did his clothes. Though if he found a particularly rude cleaning service worker… For long minutes his only companions had been his breathing and the soft sounds of his footsteps until finally he heard something out of place. A groan, full of pain, just behind the door the doctor had stopped at.

Crouching a bit, Hannibal scented the air next to the keyhole. More blood, but this time it was fresh. Fresh blood and expensive cologne. Now, this: this was interesting. Rising, he gave the door a sharp knock and waited. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Who’s there?” The voice was obviously male, perhaps 40 years old. Someone in the position of power, a highly paid employee. Or employer, judging by the arrogance he managed to instill in only two words. Someone with information he needed.

“My name is Hannibal Lecter. I came here to visit a patient of mine that was recently transferred to this facility. Would you be so kind as to explain what exactly is going on here?”

A tense second later the door clicked open and Hannibal found himself at gunpoint. The man holding the gun was dressed in an expensive suit, though nothing like his own, looking haggard and exhausted. There were streaks of blood on his pants. He was holding his free hand to his ribs, keeping pressure on the gaping wound there. Sharp force trauma, if he weren’t mistaken. Knife, most likely. Smiling politely, Hannibal nodded in greeting.

“I assure you I mean you no harm. May I come inside?”

The man silently inspected the visitor before waving him in. The hand with the gun, however, stayed where it was.

“I was not aware that we were expecting any guests. You certainly picked the worst time to make a visit.”

“I would show you my pass, but I’m afraid I left it in the car. Which brings me to my first question. What in the world happened here? Was there a riot?”

After posing the questions, Hannibal casually walked further in the room. The shadows cast by the flickering flashlight on the center of the table gave him just enough cover to maneuver in case things went sour.

“Riot is putting this mildly, fuck, a revolution is what it is,” the man snorted, “but there is no need for you to concern yourself with it. It is being contained as we speak, I’m sure. How long have you been wandering the asylum?”

There was something unpleasant in the way the man’s words flowed smoothly in the face of present situation. Hannibal moved further into the shadows.

“Just mere minutes by my count. I found the front door to be open and let myself in.” He paused as the man visibly perked up at his words. “It is considered polite to give your name in return after being introduced to someone.”

“Ah, yes. Do forgive my manners, pal. Jeremy Blaire, at your service.” The man attempted to perform a mocking bow but stilled halfway, grimacing in pain.

“I see. Do you perhaps require any assistance with your wound?” Hannibal indicated the ever-growing blood stain on Blaire’s shirt. “I am a doctor, a former surgeon, and you seem to be losing a lot of blood.”

“So I do.” For a moment more Blaire stared suspiciously at Hannibal, until finally relenting and lowering his gun. “I’d welcome any help under these circumstances.”

“Excellent.”

Briskly, Hannibal took off his jacket and stepped to the wounded man. Looking over the blood and ruined clothing he took the knife out of his pocket and gingerly shifted the cloth from the skin. Before he could get to the wound itself he needed to clear the path, so the tattered shirt had to go. Throughout all this he continued questioning Blaire.

“How did you get this? A patient?”

“Yes. Yes, a patient. A violent one. From the prison block.” He watched the doctor work for a tense second and then continued. “I’m afraid there’s been an unfortunate… accident that led to some of the patients escaping. Some of them were quite unstable.”

“I have seen the bodies,” confirmed Hannibal. “Was Will Graham one of the escaped patients?”

“He’s the one you came to visit?” Blaire couldn’t contain the flinch when the doctor moved from his clothing to his skin. He dabbed at the blood with the remains of the shirt, trying to clean the wound a bit.

“Indeed.”

“Could be. One of the most stubborn patients I’ve seen here, if you ask me.” Blaire smirked slightly. “Took a long time before he started to respond to his treatment.”

“Is that so?” Hannibal’s hands tightened. “And where might he be at the moment?”

“My best guess? In the north wing. That’s where we kept the stubborn ones. Near the vocational block, I think.” He gasped suddenly as the doctor tied the shirt around his middle in a makeshift bandage.

“I see. Well, I’m afraid I can’t do more here. But you should be able to stay conscious, at least until the paramedics arrive.”

“Right. Paramedics. Did you call anyone?”

Hannibal considered the question and covertly reached for the knife he had put back into his pocket while he worked.

“No. I did not.”

“Wonderful,” Blaire’s eyes glinted with satisfaction as he began to raise the gun again. “Now, it’s nothing personal and I’m truly grateful for your help, but I simply can’t let you le.. _Grukh_!”

Blaire’s last word was lost in the gurgle that escaped his mouth, as blood rushed through the new wound on his neck. Nodding to himself Hannibal wiped his knife on Blaire’s trousers and stood up from his victim.

“You can’t let me leave. Interesting. I wonder what exactly has been going on behind closed doors at Mount Massive Asylum…?”

He retrieved his jacket and picked up Blaire’s gun and flashlight before continuing on into the hallway. According to the map that he had briefly inspected near the stairs, this way led further into the darkness, but it was the only way to reach the vocational area. And hopefully he would find his dear Will there.


	3. Chapter 3

Will stepped back and admired his handiwork. Amazing what one could do with a couple of kitchen utensils and a roll of duct tape. The tangle of computer wires had also come in handy. The blood was still flowing freely from the puncture wounds as he raised his knife and started carving. The bodies hanging on the wall were not in any condition to protest, and Will preferred it that way.

As time passed, the voices in his head became clearer, and sometimes he could almost catch their names on the periphery of his memory. The failure to do so frustrated him endlessly. The voices of the living only got in the way. _And that is rather rude. Don’t you agree, Will?_

He nodded in agreement. He made sure to avoid the few people who didn’t aggravate him when he was in such a mood, lest he did something he would later regret. Or they would do something to him that he wouldn’t be able to regret afterwards. _A_ s _ensitive psychopath. There is no such thing as a sensitive psychopath, Will._

He was submerged in his work for some time when he was interrupted by the metallic clanking. The sound was uncomfortably close and, grumbling, Will went to investigate. True to his suspicions, it was the big guy. The one that was to be avoided at all costs. _This isn’t my kind of crazy._

Sometimes, Will mused as he was searching around for the open vent, his own thoughts blended with the voices he heard until he couldn’t tell one from the other. The door in the neighboring room banged open just as he eased the vent latch behind himself. The big guy was, well, big and surprisingly agile for his size, but not very hard to escape from as long as one listened to his surroundings. Still, while Will didn’t share the general population’s terror of the guy, he certainly wouldn’t have wanted to meet him in a dark corridor without any exits. _So much spoiled meat…_

He snorted. For a reason he couldn’t explain, the mournful note in that usually composed and cultured voice never failed to lighten his mood, no matter how dark it might be. _How does it make you feel, Will?_

Amused. He was feeling amused, even crawling through probably the dustiest vent in existence. Will sneezed and stilled. Somewhere behind him there was a distinctly familiar roar of “pigs” and “whores” and he grimaced. It seemed he overstayed his welcome in this part of the asylum. Time to move on to greener pastures. _Don’t worry. I won’t leave you here._ Whomever that voice belonged to, he already did. Though perhaps, that “here” was not this “here”.

The longer Will spent listening, even answering at times, to the voices, the surer his step became. The longer he spent creating the beautiful displays out of worthless habitants of the asylum, the more stable he started to feel. There was something contradictory in that fact, he was sure, but he had no desire to nitpick. It was more than enough for him that he had stopped having visions of the Mount Massive patients being horribly mutilated in various ways whenever he stumbled across a couple of blood puddles or scattered limbs.

The ones who interrupted him when Will was having such a… moment, ended up as volunteers for his art projects. After all, it was terribly rude of them to intrude on something they had no right to.

The sound of clanking chains was getting farther and farther away, and after a while he decided it was safe to climb down. Finding the nearest vent opening, Will listened for a few moments. Not hearing anything suspicious, he tensed his leg and kicked at the grate. It clattered to the ground and he followed a second later. But just as he was straightening up, there was a loud crash, the door into the room burst open and Will found himself face to face with a terrified man. Curiously, he wasn’t dressed like the other patients, and that stilled Will’s hand. Still, a bloodied knife was never out of place when meeting new people. _My kitchen is always open for friends._

“It wouldn’t be wise to continue in that direction”, he said slowly, gesturing behind himself. “Unless you have a habit of running into the big guy. You know, the one whose favourite meat is probably pork.”

“Fuck!” The man backed away and cursed. “Fuck.” And cursed again.

“That’s rather foul language you have there,” Will frowned. _What’s to be done about that?_ “What’s to be done about that?”

The man flinched and brought his hands up in a pacifying gesture. In his right was a battered camera, red light blinking faintly.

“Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to offend you. Thanks for the tip.” He looked back nervously. “Oh, you might want to relocate as well. There’s a couple of insane freaks coming this way. You know, the twin, cannibalistic, naked ones.” The man gestured behind himself with the camera and started edging towards the other exit. “I’ll just be going then… Nice to meet you and all that…”

Will smiled a bit bemusedly and gazed after the strange man. _Not smooth enough._ He looked a bit like a rabbit, he decided after some contemplation. Definitely not someone who should be wandering the halls of the asylum. Oh, well. Not really worth his time. He distinctly remembered someone mentioning the chapel on the other side of the facility. He wondered if there was a priest as well as he had promised Eddie to look for one. With barely any sound, Will slipped back into the vent and turned south.

 

&&&

 

Despite the fact that he still hadn’t found Will, and his subsequent frustration with that, Hannibal was slowly growing enchanted with the asylum he found himself in. The amount of depravity that the doctors and other staff members indulged in, all in the name of research, was frankly fascinating. If one believed the contents of various files, for some reason left alone in various nooks and corners, almost every employee that graced the halls of this facility deserved to stay there in a more permanent way.

 He found his interest especially piqued when he encountered the reports of the project called “WALRIDER”. Some of the files in which it was mentioned appeared to be already perused by someone else. Hannibal wondered who else would possess the curiosity and, more importantly, the right state of mind to go looking through them.

Really, his search for Will was turning out to be quite a quest. Hannibal chuckled as he passed another crumpled body with a twisted neck. It was fortunate that Will had a friend that was not squeamish. He could only imagine what would happen if, say, Alana went to visit Will in his stead. At least he was reasonably sure that Freddie Lounds wouldn’t be able to get the scoop on this.

The trek itself was not without its annoyances. The number of locked doors, collapsed walls and dangers to his leather shoes was astounding. It was almost as if someone had gone out of their way to ensure the passage was anything but easy. Granted, most of the locks hadn’t required more than a few minutes of his time, but still the fact itself was rather irksome.

By his estimation, he had already spent more than two hours navigating the needlessly convoluted corridors of the asylum.  Hannibal sighed as he passed another little kitchenette and emerged into a darkened room. The first thing to gain his attention was the blood on the walls. The doctor stepped back and squinted a bit. It was a painting, he decided after some contemplation. A small boat in the vast sea of crimson. Despite the odd choice of medium, the image projected the aura of tranquility. After thorough inspection of the scene, Hannibal was delighted to discover a pack of dogs bounding along the edges of the painting. A pack of very familiar dogs, he had to admit.

Well, he always advised his patients to express themselves in any way they found soothing. Apparently, his Will was quite an artist.

Committing the sight to memory, Hannibal continued on. The blood was not fresh, which meant his friend was not nearby. But if anything, that display meant the information given by the late Jeremy Blaire was correct and Will had inhabited this part of the facility. At least in the past. Pushing through another pair of double doors, he paused. The lights were out again and he turned on the flashlight.

The flickering cone of light reminded him to look for some batteries if he encountered any supply closets. So far, any shelves or tables he had investigated lacked anything resembling useful to him. Some of them even had a bloody outline of a battery, left there as if to mock him.

The room was sparsely furnished, as far as he could tell, and covered in pieces of what appeared to be leather. Nudging one of them with the tip of his shoe, Hannibal noted that it was extensively chewed on and recoiled a bit. It was even covered in glistening slobber. Really, that was rather unhygienic. Whoever had done this, had gathered belts, diverse straps and restraints and scattered them across the floor. Some of the pieces were ripped apart and Hannibal frowned slightly, imagining what such behavior could do to one’s teeth.

The doctor was just starting to wish he hadn’t thought of that when he heard the unmistakable sound of someone choking. It seemed the leather was not a very wholesome substitute for food after all. Moving slowly, Hannibal headed towards the noise and discovered a small hallway. At the end of it, hunched under a cracked table, was another patient. His mouth was cut to ribbons and the drool that almost reached the floor was a repulsive pinkish colour.

For a second Hannibal stood still and stared as the man’s throat convulsed, trying to dislodge a strip of leather. His hands were grasping and shaking the edge of it as a drowning man would a rope, but all his efforts were in vain. And just as Hannibal imagined earlier, the teeth were rotten and few.

Through all the man’s thrashing his eyes didn’t leave Hannibal’s and the light in them slowly started to dim. The doctor waited politely until he was sure the man succumbed to his fate and then returned to the room. The small hallway was a dead end and he pointed his flashlight at the rest of the walls, searching for an alternative exit.

To his satisfaction, he didn’t have to search for long. While it wasn’t a door, there was a hole in one of the walls that was just big enough for him to fit through without damaging his suit. On the other side was another hallway and Hannibal sighed in frustration.

He would have welcomed the appearance of someone more or less sane at that moment, perhaps a staff member or even a nonviolent patient that wasn’t bleeding out, hitting the wall with his head or suffocating due to his own foolishness. Alas, he doubted that any survived. The last few patients he had encountered, not counting the leather-obsessed one, had been exceedingly aggressive and as a result Hannibal acquired a few more specks of blood on his sleeves. Thankfully, whatever weapons they had scavenged were not quite on par with his knives, and their lack of skill in wielding the various bats, planks or even chair legs hadn’t served them well.

His progress towards his dear Will was also impeded by the fact that he simply didn’t have enough information about the facility. As far as he could tell, he had reached the north wing. That was a good start, he supposed. Now he had to decide the further course of actions. Did he pick a direction at random and just make sure to be thorough in his searching or did he look for someone with information?

The first option was rather unappealing to Hannibal but he truly wasn’t certain he could find someone he could communicate with productively. As he continued down the corridor he pondered on the matter. At least he could be relatively sure that Will was still alive and well. Physically well. His mental health was still to be confirmed.

The next door opened into a large, well lit room with a rather high ceiling, and he found himself on what appeared to be an overseeing platform several metres above the floor. The room looked like an auditorium, with different levels and numerous desks. But while he was considering the best way to get down, Hannibal was interrupted by the already familiar sound of metal clanking. Throughout his search, he had heard it several times, but had never got the chance to see who or what had been the source.

Now, however, Hannibal was treated to a sight of a truly repulsive specimen of humanity. His large, bulky frame was the predominant feature and the sight of his face made the doctor grimace. It looked as if the man had cut the skin around his mouth and then cut off his nose. For a second, Hannibal wondered if the final result had been intended by the man himself, done perhaps after the breakout had happened, or if it had been the doctors’ initiative.

As he observed further, Hannibal made a note to himself to look into what kind of drugs could actually make a person mutilate himself to such extent of his own volition. It never hurt to be prepared, after all. The last time he had talked to Jack Crawford about his alternate persona, the agent hadn’t seemed as shaken over his kill as he would have liked. Perhaps it was time to spice things up a little.

The recurring clanking noise drew his attention back to the matter at hand. The chains were wrapped around the man’s limbs and produced the sound whenever he moved. Curiously enough, his nails seemed to be fashioned into claws. Combined with the obvious muscles on his arms and the fact that the rest of the body looked as firm, despite the size, Hannibal surmised that he found the patient with a habit of decapitating his victims.

“Little pig… You are here, aren’t you...? I’ll find you, little whore…”

Hannibal raised his eyebrow at that and stepped back into the shadows. No need to needlessly antagonize an obviously unstable man with dozens of kills under his belt and superior physical strength.

His gaze followed the man thoughtfully until he left the room. It didn’t look like his second option was viable, after all. Not with those kinds of predators in the asylum. But just as he returned to figuring out the way to descend and continue his way, there was a rustle and a head appeared from under one of the tables.

The newcomer listened for any sounds of the large patient’s return and when he finally deemed himself safe, crawled into the open. To Hannibal surprise, the man wasn’t dressed as a patient, or even an orderly or security guard. In fact, his clothes were unexpectedly mundane, something he could expect to see on a busy street in Baltimore, not in an insane asylum.

And so, before the man could escape, Hannibal cleared his throat and stepped into the light, attempting to look as nonthreatening as possible. The man flinched and swung around, tensing his legs as he did so.

“Please, I mean you no harm. I merely wish to ask you a few questions.”

To prove his point, the doctor put his knife back into the pocket and slowly raised his arms.

“Who’re you?” The man’s breathing was ragged and panicked. It seemed he had been running and hiding for some time now.

“I am a psychiatrist, here to visit my former patient. Unfortunately, this whole…” he paused searching for the right word, “This whole misfortune with patient’s breakout has interfered with my plans rather spectacularly. I merely wish to enquire if you had seen my patient.”

The man stared suspiciously at the doctor, clearly torn between simply bolting for the door and staying to answer likely the first sane man he had met in the asylum. The latter urge seemed to prevail and he swallowed, before answering.

“Well, alright. What does he look like?”

“He is about this high,” Hannibal lowered his hand a little. “He has brown curly hair, most likely a beard. His eyes are blue. He is rather similar to you in build, but might be hunching slightly. I do not believe he would have acquired any face disfigurements during his stay here, but I suppose, it is possible. If he has, they would be fresh.”

“Wait. I actually might have met him. Hold on a second.”

The man reached behind him and produced a small camera. After fiddling with it for a short moment, he turned it around so Hannibal could see the screen, and hit play.

“…be done about that...?”

Will’s voice filtered through the speakers and Hannibal closed his eyes in relief. For all his confidence in his friend’s survival, he had still had doubts.

“Yes.” He cleared his throat again. “Yes, it is him. Where did you meet him?”

“About ten minutes to the west from here. Though it was almost an hour ago, I don’t think you’ll find him there. He actually seemed nicer than the rest of the freaks here, so I wish you luck. He seemed to be heading to the south.”

Unfortunately, the return of the clanking signaled the end to the conversation, much to Hannibal’s ever mounting frustration, and the non-patient fled in the opposite direction as fast as he could.

Another sigh escaping Hannibal’s mouth, he turned around and went back to find an alternative route. The best course of action would be to avoid the large patient and head back south as well. _Soon_ , he promised. _Soon, Will._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:  
> Due to the fact that my beta is currently on personal hiatus, chapter four won't see the light until at least December. I apologise for that, and hope it's worth the wait.))
> 
> Update: So, my beta is incommunicado. Thus, would anyone like to volunteer to take her place? I really want to post the fourth chapter (finally) but not without it being betaed.


	4. Chapter 4

To Will’s surprise the way south wasn’t as hard and perilous as he had expected, he even had enough time for a few small side projects. Nothing serious or time consuming, but entertaining nonetheless. Leaving the latest volunteers for the position of his model in various states of dismemberment, he reached his destination without any trouble.

The halls next to the lobby were deserted. Even the gaunt half-dead patient, one of the few that had the privilege to observe him at work, had disappeared. After a cursory glance around, Will determined that there was no danger and went on. The feeling of solitude, unfortunately, proved to be misleading. He had wondered at the lack of screams, used to them as he had been in the north wing, but hadn’t paid much attention to the oddity.

And so, after taking a few turns and climbing a few floors, he walked into what appeared to be an infirmary with calmness in his bones and indistinct murmuring in his mind. A few minutes later, however, it was joined by another man’s voice.

“Alright there, buddy? You’re not bored or anything, are you? I could always crank up the heat down there if you know what I mean…” The words were interrupted by shrill screeching. “Now, now, there is no need to be so vocal about it. I _am_ a doctor; I know what I am doing. Geez, one might think you don’t enjoy my company. Or trust my surgical expertise. Really, I’m hurt. You have trust issues. And really healthy vocal cords… I wonder…”

Another scream and Will slid around the corner, curiously peering in the shadows. _This should be interesting. Please, doctor, proceed._ The man was unfamiliar. Will was a bit perturbed as he realized that the speaker was a naked man, wearing only a leather apron caked in grime. That wasn’t what a doctor was supposed to look like. No, thought Will, a doctor, or at least a surgeon, was supposed to wear neat pristine coat. _A suit._

After brief contemplation, Will turned back. He neither wanted nor needed to start a conversation with someone as unsanitary as that _doctor_ appeared to be. Normally he would inquire if the man wanted to help him with his art projects but he had finished his last one just before entering the lobby and he didn’t have any new worthwhile ideas yet. Perhaps he would revisit the area at a later time.

Stepping lightly around one of the gurneys he trailed his hand along the edge. Despite the charlatan that was posing as the doctor, the room gave off the feeling of wartime infirmary, with plastic sheets, cold metal and blood stains in various shapes. There was a requisite body or two as well. The room was promising and for a second Will imagined what he could create here, but his time was limited. Last he heard, Eddie actually caught himself a bride. As a bridesmaid, it was Will’s duty to find the priest to preside over the ceremony.

He went on, the man’s voice fading behind him, and hummed under his breath. The deeper his way led him into the south wing the fewer people he encountered. Or rather still breathing people. _Little difference between the two, really._

He passed a small room full of shelves and ripped off heads and was reminded of the big guy. Apparently, he had intruded on the behemoth grounds. Though, as far as Will knew, he was still chasing after that skittish rabbit he had encountered shortly before leaving the north wing. No matter. There should be enough cattle for him to play with even if the rabbit remained elusive.

For a second he considered exploring the lower floors instead of looking for the priest. It would only take a few minutes to retrace his steps back to the stairs and the elevator that led into the depth of the asylum. One of the doctors, the one whose voice he silenced shortly after meeting, had volunteered a set of keys that had already came in handy several times. But then again, he was almost morbidly curious as to how Eddie was going to conduct the wedding. And what state the bride would be in eventually. _You don’t need all your parts to say yes._  

For all his unexpected insight into the psyche of his various fellow inmates, there remained a number of them whose actions left him rather baffled. _Losing your touch there, eh, Will?_ Sometimes he wondered if he had been as good as he was now in discerning the motives and characters of those around him. And if he had been as fascinated with those whose thoughts he couldn’t predict.

He wondered what would happen when there were no one to take his mind off the voices, no projects to channel his thoughts into. When all the readily available living material ran out. What would he do then? _I don’t want you to be here._ If that happened neither did he.

 

&&&&

 

Hannibal was feeling a tad bewildered as he stared at a pair of rib-cutting shears thrust into his face. The image his assailant presented to the world only added to his confusion. It was not the first time he had encountered someone as dirty or as bereft of clothing in this facility, but none of them had any unusual additions to their bodies. If anything, it was the opposite. But a convoluted pair of glasses belonging to an age long past and surgical tubing jutting out of an arm was not something he had ever expected to see in the asylum. That was not who he wanted to see after the laborious trek back to the north wing.

“Hey, buddy, are you paying attention?” Hannibal raised his eyebrow and kept silent, still observing the strange attire of the man before him. “I said I liked your eyes, they would look wonderful on my bedside table. What do you think? Should I put them in a glass jar and fill it with water and glycerine? It’d make a nice snow globe of sorts… Or maybe corn syrup, that should work as well… Add a little holiday cheer to this place, eh?”

As the man blabbered on, Hannibal put a little distance between them. Judging from the amount of blood the man had on his apron, he had established himself on the relative top of the asylum food chain.

“I do believe this facility has all the cheer it will ever need, Mr?...”

“Trager. Richard Trager at your service, monsieur.” He grinned, or at least Hannibal assumed he did. Most of his features were hidden behind an old surgical mask and it was rather difficult to ascertain his facial expression. “Fascinating accent you have there… France? No? No. East. More to the east, I think. Eh, that’s not really important. Now, about these eyes of yours… If you just stand still…”

 “I’m afraid that would be a touch too detrimental for my health, Mr. Trager.” Hannibal eyed the shears and shifted his stance to the right. “Though I do appreciate the sentiment, I’ll have to turn down your request.”

For a second both men were still. The shears trembled in a too tight of a grip and Trager surged forward, aiming for Hannibal’s face. Unfortunately for the inmate, his chosen victim turned out to be much faster than anticipated and sidestepped the attack. Hannibal grabbed his hand and twisted, making the weapon fall on the floor. In the issuing clatter, the knife entered Trager’s shoulder almost imperceptibly, the man leaning to the side at the last moment and evading what would have been a lethal strike to the heart. A second later, the weapon was once more poised to rectify Hannibal’s mistake.

Unwilling to get closer to the filthy man, Hannibal put his foot on the shears and flicked the blood from his knife. Trager backed away and narrowed his eyes.

“You’re a slippery one, aren’t you?” He prodded the wound and snorted. “Well, don’t let me keep you. I’m sure a man of your, ah, disposition has better places to be.” He glanced at the door and started inching in its direction. “I’ll just be going then… And hope the next person you stick your knife in will be Walker…”

The last sentence was obviously not meant for Hannibal ears but he let it slide. No reason to sully his shirt more than necessary, especially after he had been forced to abandon his jacket. He had lost all hope of redeeming the garment when he had noticed the amount of rips and stains littered across the fabric. Thus, he had left it lying on the floor before what he had guessed to be another of Will’s creations.

While he was recalling a pair of bodies hoisted on the table with bloody abstract shapes swirling on their skin in vivid detail, Trager slipped from the room with a sigh of relief. Hannibal let him go, seeing no reason to pursue the man and inspected his surroundings instead. When he had happened upon Trager, the man’s eccentric attire had kept his attention away from the hallway he now found himself in.

Retracing his steps back to the north wing, Hannibal had noticed the decrease in the number of still living people. And even though that hadn’t affected him one way or another, he couldn’t help but wonder whether Will was one of those who were putting a sizable dent into the number of Mount Massive residents.   

Hannibal made his way past a couple of gurneys and ducked under a low hanging plastic sheet that hid the passage into the adjourning room. Despite the relative ease with which he had taken down Trager, he had no desire to stay in the area that the filthy man favoured.

He hoped he wouldn’t have to search for much longer. It had already been a few hours since he had arrived at the asylum and Hannibal was starting to get somewhat peckish. Considering the quality of available meals around, he didn’t cherish the thought of having to scavenge for his late night dinner. Or breakfast.

“Though perhaps a stew would work…” He murmured as he gazed at a pair of bloody limbs, innocently lying at the next door. He shook his head and moved on.

The door led to another hallway, this time brightly lit and almost unnaturally clean. If not for an array of red handprints on the wall, Hannibal could almost imagine that he was back in Baltimore State Hospital. He spent a moment inspecting the display before stilling. There was a distantly familiar scent in the air, something mouldy with a hint of pines under sweat and blood and medicine. It tugged on his memory and Hannibal first thought was that something was missing. Almost as if the scent was supposed to have a sweet undertone.

With a jolt, Hannibal remembered. And then he smiled, slow and satisfied. Without the overpowering smell of encephalitis, it had taken him longer than he had expected to recognise Will’s scent, no matter how many outer layers it was buried under. His friend had left the room barely ten minutes before Hannibal walked inside. If he hurried, he was sure to catch Will soon.

Now in much brighter spirits, Hannibal continued on, stopping only to confirm that he could still smell his friend. Several hallways later, he encountered an unusually clean room once again. Just as before, the room’s walls were adorned in bloody handprints. The difference lay in the severed arm, arranged so its only finger was pointing at the door opposite the one Hannibal had used. The stumps were still sluggishly bleeding. For a moment, he entertained the thought that the whole thing was starting to resemble a treasure hunt, with him wondering around the asylum looking for any signs of Will’s presence.

He looked at the prints a little closer and, while he couldn’t be completely certain, he thought that they might have been left by Will. The size was right at least. And Will did have the habit of grouping his ring and middle fingers together whenever he pressed his palm to a flat surface.

Not wanting to miss his friend yet again, Hannibal hastened his pace. He passed several more rooms, similar in state to the ones, which, he suspected, were proof of Will’s close presence, and the amount of red handprints and severed limbs increased with every room. And so did the potency of the scent.

He reached for the handle on the next door and that’s when he heard the voices. Or rather, as it was apparently a custom in the asylum, a voice and desperate crying.

“Now, I’m going to ask you again. The intact limbs I could use to entertain us both are running out and so is my patience. Now, I must admit, you have been a most wonderful host, all warm and friendly.” The crying intensified. “But all good things come to an end. Granted, so do bad things, but it doesn’t really matter in our case, does it?”

Hannibal tightened his grip, simply listening for the moment.

“I’ve been looking for this infernal priest for the better part of an hour and it is starting to get taxing. I don’t want to disappoint my dear friend, he is going to get married, you know. A priest is essential for the wedding. So, where is he? You’ve been painting the vaguely religious words around the place. It is not that far of a leap to think you know the man. Where is he?”

His voice was more confident, breathing even and unhurried. Speaking longer that Hannibal was accustomed to. He couldn’t decide if it was better or worse. He wasn’t sure it mattered.

“Now don’t go whimpering on me. It is rather rude to ignore questions. And you are not a rude person, are you?” Hannibal opened the door silently and stepped inside. The pair didn’t appear to see him just yet as they faced the opposite side of the room and he stared, a smile appearing on his face without his notice. “Really, now, what am I supposed to do with you, if you’re refusing to answer me? I’ve grown rather tired with my wall murals, so finger painting is out. Hmm…”

Clearing his throat, Hannibal made his own suggestion.

“Perhaps a statue? Your friend does appear to have exceptionally long bones. They would make for a good frame.”

“Indeed? That might be a good idea…” They both looked at the man who had finally gone silent and lay twitching on the floor. “Or maybe a collage. I haven’t tried stitching the organs before…” As the speaker trailed off, Hannibal noticed his back stiffening suddenly. “Wait. Your voice. It is… loud. Clear. Why is it so clear?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Hannibal carefully made another step.

“You… I can hear you. I can _hear_ you. I…”

Patiently, Hannibal waited.

“I can hear you. _I know you._ You…” Ever so slowly, he turned away from the bloody mess on the floor and breathed out. “ _Hannibal.”_

“Hello, my dear Will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is not betaed. I repeat, this chapter is not betaed. Alas.
> 
> I urgently need a beta. Like, seriously. Where does one get one? Was I that lucky for finding someone for my first three chapters? None of the places I looked into answer my requests...
> 
> That said, if one of you magnificent readers, by any chance, wants to beta for a bit, I would be delighted. Just send me a message.


	5. Chapter 5

For a second Will couldn’t breathe. His thoughts ran in circles and chased each other’s tails and always, _always_ came back to the name that had left his lips only a few moments ago. _Hannibal. Hannibal Lecter. Not fond of eye contact, are you?_ Was he? He couldn’t remember. _I am your friend, Will. Are you mine?_ Yes. No. He _couldn’t_ remember.

“Will?” The man, _Hannibal_ , took a step forward and reached for Will’s shoulder. Flinching in surprise, he recoiled and practically snarled at the intruder. Hannibal backed away, hands raised in a placating gesture.

“Will. I mean you no harm.” He paused. “You remembered my name. Do you remember me? Who I am?”

Will remembered his voice. Always calm, collected. Soothing. _Poisonous._ He was a friend. _Traitor. Predator. Killer._ His gaze slid past Hannibal, unseeing, as Will struggled to get a hold of his slippery memories. It was hard. Almost as if his mind rebelled against the very thought of admitting Hannibal inside itself.

“Will.” He stilled as he felt a hand on his cheek. “Will. You have to calm down. You are hyperventilating.” Was he? He _was_. The hand slipped from his cheek to the back of his neck. Another joined it on his forehead. “No fever. Good.”

“You…” Will murmured. “You are…” He couldn’t concentrate. Not with how familiar Hannibal’s touch felt. _Suffocating. Steadying. Confusing._ “You are not supposed to be here. Are you?”

“No. Neither are you, Will.” Hannibal smiled, the look in his eyes almost gentle. It jolted something, deep in Will’s mind, and he wrenched himself from the hold, panting harshly.

“Don’t touch me!” Will wasn’t sure why, the reason already slipping away. _I don’t see anyone._ “Don’t…”

“Alright.” A soft exhale. “Will, can you tell me who you are?”

“I… Yes. My name is Will Graham.” He considered Hannibal for a moment. “I am at Mount Massive Asylum. It is six in the morning.” He smiled and relaxed slightly. “I am not sick anymore, Dr. Lecter.”

“No, Will, indeed you are not.” Hannibal trailed his gaze along the blood on Will’s arms and matched his smile. “I have come to rectify the mistake that landed you in this deplorable place.”

“Have you now?” Memories trickled into his mind, bit after bit, morsel after morsel. “Rather counterproductive, don’t you think? After all, isn’t it by your design that I was put behind bars?”

“Ah, I hoped you had abandoned these suspicions, Will. I am your friend, I would never do anything to harm you, physically or mentally.”

His words had an echo to them, the one that Will identified as a memory. Something Hannibal had said to him at one point or another. His mind was stabilizing once again and though his time with the doctor was still hazy and blurred and making his head hurt, he _could_ remember the man, he _could_ place his voice. And with that the rest of his wayward memories would hopefully come back as well.

“My car is parked outside. I do not believe the staff here would object to your leaving the facility, not that we can ask any, of course.”

“Of course.” Will weighed his options. On one hand going with Hannibal and subsequently trusting him offered a way to regain the memories, that were starting to bother him more and more, and at least the fodder for his art would not ran out as easily. On the other hand, as far as he could tell, trusting Hannibal hadn’t benefited him much in the past. And he did want to keep his word to Eddie...

“Will you come with me, my friend?”

Friend. Such a small word with such a simple meaning. But the very notion of it, of Hannibal being his friend, left a rather sour taste in Will’s mouth. He hated the fact that he couldn’t remember why. That he was simultaneously aching to move closer to the man and slit his throat and squeeze his neck and hug him and hit him and make sure that he was really there and…

“Will!” Hannibal’s sharp voice stopped his mental flailing. His hand on Will's cheek was cold.

“Yes.” He swallowed. “I will come with you.” _Said the fly to the spider..._

The doctor's smile was relieved as he stepped closer. He fished a somewhat crumpled handkerchief out of his vest pocket and wiped the specks of blood on Will's face.

“Wonderful.” He paused and glanced down at the dead man. “Unless you have any other business to attend to, I suggest we head towards the exit.”

“I don't suppose you are a fan of weddings?..” Will chuckled while he moved to match Hannibal's steady gait. “Nevermind. 's not important.”

Not as important as his memories. _Not as important as Hannibal._

In less than five minutes they were nearing the lobby when Will noticed an ominous red glow outside. Something was burning. Something was burning and the smell that reached him brought to mind lazy evenings in the south and bonfires and barbecue. He trailed behind Hannibal all the while admiring the red tint his skin had acquired. He wondered whether his companion, _friend_ , would look better covered in blood. He wondered whose blood it would be. _He wondered how it would taste._

 

_& &&_

 

Hannibal was becoming quite curious about the way Will's eyes seemed to follow his exposed skin. Normally, he might have already asked his friend to share his thoughts but right then he hesitated. He could not be absolutely sure that the Will that agreed to come with him was the Will he had come to know.

The chrysalis was not entirely of his making, after all.

He was aware that there was a chance he might easily alienate the man by asking. Better to wait until he had the opportunity to examine the damage done to Will in the setting where he would feel the most unguarded. He had an inkling that the crumbling hallways of an old asylum were not such a place. Better to bide his time, indeed.

The flames eating through the derelict church he could barely see through the windows were getting bigger. Absentmindedly Hannibal noted that the apparent center of the fire was rather close to where he had found Will. He quickened his steps as he had no wish to be caught and burnt by them.

Hannibal could already see the half-broken gate leading to the exit when he was stopped by Will's hand on his shoulder.

“Wait. I can hear something.”

They slowed down. True to Will's words, if he concentrated, Hannibal could discern harsh voices with just a tint of nerves right around the corner. Surprisingly, they sounded military. Hannibal spent several moments contemplating how to proceed, before he realized that his friend was no longer at his side. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Will's shadow slipping into the nearest ventilation shaft.

That was unexpected. Hesitating for a moment, Hannibal crouched down and peered inside. The darkness of the shaft was filled with dust and distant scratches. Not the most pleasant environment. Was that how Will had traveled around the asylum before having been found by Hannibal? He hoped not. Such an oblique path couldn't be good for one's lungs.

“Will?” He called softly and waited.

From somewhere far into the shaft came what he could only describe as shushing sounds and Hannibal rose back to his feet. He would have preferred something more decipherable. Turning around, he carefully stepped closer to the gate. He was close enough to touch it, when the first scream reached him. Immediately after came the much quieter murmur of discharged guns.

Unbidden, worry rose in Hannibal's mind but he forced himself to stand still. Despite the reassuring weight of the gun behind his belt, he was under no delusion that it would help him out in the open. Regardless, every new scream and shout made him tense further.

Finally, the gunshots went silent and he heard footsteps. A second later Will rounded the corner and waved. Hannibal let out a sigh. His friend was even more dirtied up than before, and there was a trickle of blood on his temple that made Hannibal reconsider his previous decision not to follow Will.

“Don't worry, it's just a scratch.” Will grinned, his expression smug and sated, and, with a start, Hannibal recognized the look in his eyes. “It's a pity you seem in such a hurry to leave this place. Their uniforms are such a lovely shade of gray...” Shaking his head, Will turned and walked back along the hallway leading to the lobby, Hannibal close on his heels.

As he observed the much changed room before him, Hannibal couldn't help but wonder if it was Will's intention to arrange the bodies in such a way that the pooling blood now covered the entirety of the floor. The soldiers lay around the receptionist desk, their uniforms adopting a dirty brown colour. He briefly looked at his friend and returned his gaze to the unexpected display before him.

“How did you manage this, Will? These are fair in number...” Hannibal trailed off as he caught sight of someone under one of the dead men, someone still squirming. Someone still alive.

Lightly Will touched the sleeve of Hannibal's shirt and smiled. The cloth had a splatter of dark dots on it.

“Fear. They were nervous, afraid, about to suffer a breakdown. And rats. This building is old. Old and full of life. Well, less full now, but that's just humans.” He walked forward and something glinted in his hand. “So. A lot of vermin here. I'm talking about a more conventional kind of vermin, naturally. I think... I think they sometimes kept me from sleep. The sound rats and mice make when they skitter in the dark, in the corners, in the walls, above the ceiling...” He shrugged and crouched. “Some would call it maddening. I wouldn't argue that. Still...” The survivor died with a whimper and Will returned to Hannibal's side. “If you know where, a precise strike at the wall will disturb the rats and force them to abandon their shelter. In this case, they were right above the soldiers. Huh, rat shower...”

“Well,” for once Hannibal had trouble finding the right words. “That was certainly... ingenious. Well done, Will.”

His friend grinned and Hannibal returned the smile. Together they neared the exit and prepared to leave the asylum once and for all. Alas, it seemed the day still had some surprises in store for them. Just as Hannibal reached to grasp the door handle, there were sounds of hurried footsteps and labored breathing behind them.

Hannibal smelt blood. The man that had appeared out of one of the adjourning hallways had undoubtedly seen better days. His leg was mangled, twisted ankle as far as Hannibal could tell. There was a wide array of bruisers on his neck and wrists and his eyes had a wild look in them. As soon as he saw Hannibal and Will, the man froze.

“And what do we have here?” Murmured Will and tilted his head to the side. His next words were slow and measured. “You do not appear to be a patient...”

At that Hannibal raised his eyebrows, surprised. He wasn't certain how Will could know that, but his friend had surprised him before with his unique insight into the minds of others.

“I... I'm not.” The man's voice was low and hoarse, which was easily explained by the marks on his neck. Cautiously, he stepped closer. “I was one of the employers here... Who are you?” His gaze moved from Hannibal to Will and back.

“Why, we were only visiting.” The doctor answered as his friend started moving towards the scared man. “No need to be so frightened; neither me, not my friend belong to this facility.” He smiled, fully aware that the blood on both of them was not the most inviting of signs. He paid it no mind and continued. “In fact we were just about to leave when we noticed you. Do you require any assistance?”

At his last word Will surged forward and, slipping behind their new acquaintance, clipped him on his head with the knife's handle. The man gave a short cry and crumpled at Will's feet, unconscious. At his inquisitive look, Will shrugged and hoisted his victim on his back.

“I thought you might get hungry. And well, you dietary habits should have room for more than one kind of pig, shouldn't they?”

Hannibal was seized with an inexplicable urge to pat his friend on the head and he almost laughed.

“Indeed. What about your own preferences?” He probed.

“Eh. I figured, with your skill you could make a masterpiece out of fast food. Besides,” Will brushed past Hannibal and continued with a smirk. “You've been feeding me the long pig dishes practically since we met. Too late to go back to my usual menu.”

At that, Hannibal finally chuckled and followed Will.

Outside, the sun had just peaked above the nearby mountains and the small courtyard was bathed in the first sunrays. Coupled with the red glow from the still going fire it gave off a somewhat eerie effect and as the pair made their way out of the front gates, Hannibal wondered if it was a sign of a completely new beginning for the relationship between Will and him. A dawn of new era if you will. He watched as Will put their dinner into the boot of his car and relished the sight. Truly, despite the tremulous start of this venture and all the worrying that he'd had to undergo, the end result was certainly to his liking.

As they sped away from the Mount Massive Asylum, leaving behind blood and bodies, Hannibal began plotting the best legal ways to acquit his friend of all charges and at the same time not to let him acquire new ones. Perhaps, Chilton wouldn't mind volunteering to become the new scapegoat for the Reaper...

“Steak.” His musings were interrupted by Will's thoughtful voice.

“Pardon?”

“I would like a steak. Medium rare, juicy and soft.”

“I see.” Once again, Hannibal smiled at his friend's words. “That could be arranged.” He paused and brushed some dirt off Will's shoulder. “After all, you have already provided the ingredients. Leave the rest to me.”

It didn't matter that he had lost control of the latest stages of Will's development, decided Hannibal. The butterfly already knew how to fly. _He simply had to make certain that no one would break its wings._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand, it's done. That' the last chapter folks, unfortunately, still not betaed, but what can you do... I sincerely hope that you enjoyed the story and thanks for reading it till the end. :))))))))


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